“Kyaphus stabbed me, but the wound wasn’t fatal. When he pulled his knife out, the gash closed up. My shoulder is sore, and I have to be careful not to strain it. Which reminds me”—Makai draws the glass dagger from the pocket of his trench coat and hands it to Ky—“I believe this belongs to you.”
No ordinary blade.
Ky flips the knife over once in his hand. Trades it for the plain steel blade sheathed at his hip. Next he secures the excess weapon with a strap at his ankle. “Thanks.”
“It’s made from mirrorglass, is that right?” Makai strokes his chin.
“Yes, sir.” Ky shifts beside me. What is he, nervous? Afraid he’s gonna get his toy confiscated by Gage who, to my surprise, has yet to say a word?
“A rare commodity, that one,” Makai says. “I had an arrow tipped with mirrorglass once. My father gave it to me back in my Guardian training days. Such a shame to lose it.”
Not that I wouldn’t love to know what in the Reflections mirrorglass is, but there are more pressing questions on my mind, such as, “I understand how Makai is here, but . . .” I fix my gaze on Joshua. “How are you here? I saw you die.”
He opens his mouth, but it’s Ky who answers. “Because he’s an Ever.”
Joshua works his jaw, then says, “How long have you known?”
“You’re not as mysterious as you think, David. During my Guardian training I heard the stories. How you were fast. Strong. Always walked away from sparring matches without a scrape. I put two and two together.”
“I see.” Joshua scratches the back of his head.
I reel on Ky. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve known he was alive this . . . pant . . . whole . . . pant . . . time?”
Palms up surrender-style, Ky backs away. “Easy now, princess. I thought you knew.”
“Like the Void you thought I knew. You saw how destroyed I was after passing through the Threshold.” Twigs snap beneath my livid steps.
Ky backs against a tree. “I thought it was an act. Evers are very secretive about their Calling. I just assumed you were trying to protect him from Haman. Ever blood is even more rare and valuable than mirrorglass.”
I lift my hand. He deserves a good smack in the face. Even if he did rescue me and has apparently been on our side from the beginning. “Fine.” My hand lowers. I pivot and march back toward the others, kicking dirt and gravel in my wake. “Who wants to explain to me what an Ever is?”
With a light touch to my elbow, Joshua pulls me aside. “Can we talk?”
He knows me so well. My need to get away from the group. Have a moment to breathe. To process. “Sure.”
“You two go ahead,” Makai says. “It will give the rest of us time to figure out our next move.” He passes Joshua his flashlight.
“Wait.” I pull my uncle aside, relaying under my breath the vow Haman made to Isabeau.
His gaze darkens and he nods, easing my anxiety a fraction. Makai won’t let us leave Mom behind. He’ll tell the others we have to go back for her. I know it.
We shuffle away, Joshua’s fingers somehow sending tingles through my jacket sleeve. The trome seems as good a place as any for some privacy. Once inside, I let my eyes adjust and ascend a stepladder leading to an opening in the low ceiling. Flashlight in hand, Joshua follows close behind.
The second floor houses a library. Shelves line the curving walls, all cluttered with toppled, unevenly stacked leather-bounds. Mom would have a field day in here. She always had to have books organized by genre, then size. If she saw this, she wouldn’t stop until every last volume was in its proper place. A regular Snow White.
I climb the next stepladder to a third floor. A twin-bed-sized bench adorned with faded green cushions sits to the left, a round wicker table and two matching chairs to the right. A window waits behind the bench. Four square panes invite patches of moonlight. The floorboards need a good sweeping. The large square rug is so dirty I have no idea what color it is. It should just be thrown out.
“Should we . . . ?” He gestures with the light toward the bench.
I shrug. “Okay.” My answer may be casual, but butterflies have gone rampant beneath my skin.
I cross to the bench and sit, dust clouds rising when I do. A cough escapes, and I wave my hand to clear the air. The flashlight beam illuminates every mote and bunny.
“I’m going to see if I can find us a snack. You must be starving.” Flashlight tucked beneath one arm, Joshua climbs to the next floor. His leg muscles flex beneath the fitted, but not too tight, jeans. Does he have a clue how good he looks?
Thud. Something heavy sounding rolls across the floor above. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Whoever lived here must’ve had a terrible time sleeping whenever someone was upstairs. Every echo and squeak is audible, pronounced.
Like home. The sound of Mom in her art studio above my room lulled me to sleep like nothing else could—aside from Joshua’s guitar playing.
He returns with a jar and a grin, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Breakfast.” He hops off the last step and holds up what appears to be pie filling. It’s yellow and liquid and has flecks of brown—cinnamon maybe—in it. He unscrews the lid and takes a whiff, then passes it to me.
I inhale through my nose, and the sweet scent of peach nectar almost satisfies my appetite by itself. Almost. “Don’t you mean dinner?”
“It’s easy to get confused in a place without day.” He plops down beside me, sets the flashlight between us, and kicks off his boots, toes wiggling in his socks. “But I assure you, it’s breakfast. Drink. I couldn’t find any spoons.”
I let the Uggs fall off my feet and sit cross-legged. Lifting the lip of the jar, I open my mouth and drink. A tender chunk of peach flesh falls out, and I swallow it whole. Mmmm. It is cinnamon. And honey too. I take another gulp, then pass the jar to Joshua. We sit this way for a while, drinking pie filling and smacking our lips in silence. When only sticky goo remains, he slides two fingers in and starts scooping.
“You’re such a guy.” The tease feels so natural. The way it used to be.
He stiffens.
Did I say something wrong? Let’s try again. “I missed you.”
“Kyaphus appears to have changed sides.” Is it really so difficult for him to say he missed me too?
“Um, yeah. I guess.” I relay Ky’s story, trying to include every detail despite my distractedness. When I finish I ask, “So, what’s an Ever?” I trace the corners of my mouth with my finger, wiping away the pasty residue.
“Has anyone explained to you about the Callings yet?”
“I know they’re special abilities. And they’re sourced by the Verity.”
“Correct. There are seven Callings—abilities—each one unique to the soul that carries it. When a child is born they’re given water from a Threshold. Once the water is consumed, a safeguard is bestowed on the child’s soul until they come of age. Sometimes the water’s power works beyond mere protection, and a Calling manifests as well. It affects everyone in different ways. During childhood the Calling is limited, never reaching its full potential until adulthood.” He sets the nearly clean jar on the floor. “Then, at the age of eighteen, what we refer to as a Confine lifts.”
Wade mentioned the Confine. Is that why Robyn’s teeth were flat and her paws clawless?
“The child is then an adult,” he says. “Their soul is no longer guarded. At that point they have a choice. It’s always a war between the two—between serving the Verity and the Void. Even before Crowe released the Void, there were those who believed it was the power worthier of allegiance.”